Jealousy Suites You As Much As That Apron Mr Holmes
by CompanionToMisterHolmes
Summary: Written for the prompt: [Sherlolly, post-Reichenbach resurrection, BBC-compliant] An in-denial jealous!Sherlock tries to better everything that Molly's current suitor is doing for her, but each time it ends up with Molly getting hurt or embarrassed or just plain confused. *now with added ApronOnly!Sherlock, as per request*
1. A Jealous Holmes Bakes

**This was from a prompt... which seems to be something I'm doing a lot :)**

**Sorry for any odd formatting, it feels nice to write Sherlolly gain, but my computer didn't seem to think so :P**

* * *

"Nope, I can't."

"Oh, why not Molly?" Sherlock seemed as if he was whining. After so many years of getting his way from a flash of a false smile or voicing his complimentary deductions, Molly Hopper had taken him in for one year of hiding and forced domesticity, and had grown a backbone.

"Because, Sherlock. One, it's against social and hospital policy to give away human hearts for experimentation, especially with that look in your eye to suggest it will involve a Bunsen Burner. And two, I have a date I will not be late for, with a man who is both handsome and smart…" of course, Sherlock scoffed at the idea anyone could be smart but him, "…and will one day be my husband if all goes well."

"Yes well, with your track record Miss. Hooper all will not go well, and even if it does, the divorce rate for newly married couples is only increasing."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I'll keep that in mind whilst I finally get to kiss someone after a year and a half's forced abstinence of human contact." When Molly looked at him, he could tell that it was his fault, but he wasn't sorry, she had helped him and he was thankful, but not sorry.

"Fine, go on your date, have sexual intercourse after the fifth date, see if I care…" he was being brash and rude, but it was nothing Molly hadn't become accustomed to. "… see if that doesn't stop me taking the heart when you leave." He whispered, but Molly didn't need to hear him say it to know his plan.

"C'mon you, you're leaving with me, and I am locking that door. I will know if you come back to steal it… and even if you do the cherry on top will be seeing Lestrade drag you to a prison cell." A smug grin plastered across her face, and for some reason Sherlock reciprocated feeling happy to be around this new Molly Hooper, _happy? Surely not. It's just the inevitable shock to the system of Molly's change or revealing of character that is all._

"Molly Hooper, you wouldn't dare."

* * *

"Sherlock, what on earth are you doing?" John's eyebrows had risen up into his hairline at the sight of the detective, in what appeared to be Mrs Hudson's apron, covered head to toe in flour and sugar.

"Baking John, is that not obvious? I thought you were better than that!"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. Why on earth are you baking Sherlock?"

The tension is Sherlock's shoulder's was obvious, along with his mechanical movements round the ever-growing destruction of the once passably clean kitchen.

"He made her cupcakes, John! CUPCAKES! With soppy little sentimental messages and anatomically incorrect hearts on each of them in suggestively red icing. So I'm going to do one better, anatomically correct heart biscuits! With factual deductions of her appearance written on them." He held up a rather tasty looking biscuit to show John his accomplishment, a proud concentrated look on his face.

"Ummm… okay, that's lovely that you can bake and all, but who made who cupcakes, and who are these for?" he motioned to the mass of biscuits that leittered all the surfaces.

"Molly and her doctor boyfriend, John. How many other woman do I know in a romantic" _but doomed to fail_ "relationship, whom I see on a frequent basis? The biscuits are for her."

"You're making her biscuits, because her boyfriend made her cupcakes?" the questioning tone of his voice conveyed the confusion he held. Were they really talking about the same Molly Hooper Sherlock had practically ignore or insulted for the past several years, who has only just recently stood up to the man, and moved on with her own life? Then it dawned upon him, _I may not be a deductive genius, but I sure know emotions when I see them. _"Sherlock, are you jealous of Molly's boyfriend? Because if you are, you could just talk to her about what you're feeling."

"Feeling…" Sherlock spat the word out as if it were vile. "… I do not do feelings John, and most certainly not ones for my –uhm- **the** pathologist Molly Hooper, I just need better lab access, she's been distracted with her romantic entanglement. I am not jealous!" _or am I? No of course not, how could I be that would mean that I desire and reciprocate the affection for Molly, which I do not! I do not long to look into those deep chocolate brown eyes or run my hands through the tresses of her auburn hair as I press my lips against… NO, I am not jealous, I do not do feelings, I do not do jealousy and I do not do romance… I just need access to more body parts, like before._

Shaking his head as if to erase all previous thoughts, Sherlock went back to the baking, that was purely for access to resources beyond his complete control.

John, of course, looked on with a knowing smile as he left him to it.

* * *

"Here." Sherlock thrust a tin filled with the fresh biscuits into Molly's already full arms.

"Oh…" caught off guard Molly dropped her files, which scattered across the carpet tiles of the floor, being replaced in her arms by an excessively flowery tin.

"The tin was Mrs Hudson's I thought you would appreciate that over the less floral one that was, at the time, filled with fingers and toes." Even Molly could see that Sherlock looked nervous, although she could not decipher why, so decided to continue this encounter with as much speed as possible, she had another date with Steve in about an hour and wanted her work done before he picked her up from the lab.

"Well, yes… thank you. No fingers or toes is much appreciated…" opening the tin Molly found an assortment of anatomical heart biscuits with different observations of her appearance written skilfully in various colours of icing, they smelt like cinnamon which was her favourite, _and they don't look toxic, which is always an upside with Sherlock. _"Did you make these?" She asked, knowing of Mrs Hudson's skill with cakes, it could have easily been her, but the words seemed so very Sherlockian.

"Yes, do you not believe I could do such a thing? Come on Molly, you know me well enough to know I can achieve anything I put my mind to."

"Well not 100%, when you were staying with me there was that one day you couldn't use cutlery, said you'd deleted it as 'non-vital information' and I had to teach you all over again."

"We said we would never speak of that! And I achieved the end goal because I set my mind to relearn, thank you."

A smirk twitched at the corners of Molly's mouth as she remembered the struggles of teaching Sherlock the correct way to grip a fork or spoon, and how not to continue spilling soup down the few shirts he owned.

Looking back down at the baked goods she flashed him a pleased smile "This is sweet, thank you." Leaning up she pressed a kiss to his cheek and he froze as if he were ice in the arctic. Coughing he regained his composure. "What's it for though?"

"Just something as thanks for helping me." Rushing his uncertain words, Sherlock then made to leave the room, in favour of the much less awkwardly suffocating morgue and the things he could take for experimentation with Molly's now guaranteed permission.

"Excuse me, where are you going?..."

"Down to the -"

Molly cut him off, "No, that was rhetorical, you're not leaving until you help gather up these files you caused me to drop with your false sense of grandeur. Also don't think for one second this get's you the heart, you're subliminal messaging with the shape was a little obvious."

If there was anything he had learnt in his time with Molly it was to not argue with this new assertive Molly Hooper, unless willing to go through some form of immense pain, so he conceded and helped.

* * *

For Molly it had been a lovely three weeks with Steve, the handsome, smart surgeon from The Royal London Hospital. His baking was to die for (only matched, shockingly, by that of Sherlock Holmes) and he was always a gentleman. But if she were honest, Molly found him boring and un-passionate. He would talk about his job and his patients, his family and friends, even Molly, in a way that made the world seem mundane. Then again he was the best Molly was going to get as she closed the gap into the wrong side of 30 and he really wasn't bad in bed, _maybe I can just live with it._

That was when, on her 6th real date with the man, Sherlock Holmes had 'just happened to be in the same restaurant' and in need of both of their medical expertise. Steve wasn't one to say no to a friend and 'any friend of Molly's is a friend of mine.' So on their 6th date, all dressed up and stomachs unsatisfied with leaving their food, Steve and Molly were collectively performing an emergency tracheotomy upon a member of Sherlock's homeless network.

When the procedure was done and an ambulance finally come and gone Sherlock had looked Steve up and down, a look only given before a tirade of deductions.

"Just don't even say it, Sherlock. Don't!"

A smug grin spread across his face, and Molly knew what was to follow. "What is this 'it' of which you are referring, is it your current romantic partner's infidelity, his criminal record, or that you had sex before the 5th date?"

Of course, gentlemanly or masculine pride caused Steve to lunge forward fist clenched in an attempt to at least break Sherlock's nose, but Sherlock was always going to be one step ahead. Pushing the hand out of the way and into the alley's wall was the best mode of defence, a distinct **snap** was heard and it was clear that not only had Sherlock Holmes ruined her date, but he had also broken his wrist.

As Sherlock elegantly escaped the outcome of this occurrence by running away to what could only be presumed was 221b, Molly looked Steve in the eye only once more that evening before the inevitable. Taking care of his wrist and accompanying him to A&E was probably to be the last time she would see him. Oh, Sherlock was in trouble with the once meek pathologist, and her rage only built and the A&E waiting times lingered on.

* * *

"SHERLOCK HOLMES! You absolute over grown child of a git!" Molly's enraged voice resonated through the supposedly empty rooms of 221b Baker Street.

"Oh, don't hide from me. I know you're in here, you forget I hid you from the world for a year… and you may be a genius, but after a while you're incredibly predictable with your hiding places!" Shaking with anger, Molly lifted the sofa cushions of the well-worn leather sofa on the left wall. Then pulling away the thing layer of foam she revealed a curled up Consulting Detective. "You did this to my sofa too, remember, I had to buy a new one!"

The coolness of the room hit Sherlock and he made an annoyed growl that she had found him. "Fine, you found me. Well done, you're not as idiotic as the remaining population." The sarcasm was blatant within his words.

"Are you kidding me Sherlock bloody Holmes?! He's a surgeon; a really good bloke and you broke his wrist playing your stupid games. He's not another Moriarty, which was one mistake in my life that will never be repeated!

"You know he's had to take time off work and they can't pay him the whole time he's on recovery. Why? Why would you do that?… if I didn't know you any better I'd say you fancied me, that you were jealous. HA." If Molly wasn't in such a blind rage she would have seen that flash of pain cross Sherlock's eye's that she thought that a joke, or the pride that swelled within him, that the Molly Hooper of mumbled words and stuttered apologies was long gone.

"And, of course, he dumped me… No sane man will go near me with you around."

"Well it's a good thing that I'm not sane." Sherlock spoke as he stood up and took one elegant step so he was so close to Molly, that if it were 2 years ago she would have fainted.

"What in the hell are you…" Molly's words fell into silence, as before she could finish her thought, unfamiliar lips pressed onto her own in a passionate, unpractised, teeth-clashing kiss.

As the two separated resting their heads upon each other's foreheads, the moment was uncommon and beautiful in it's intimacy. "Well that certainly explains a few things. Like the biscuits, that certainly explains the biscuits." She spoke as giggles began to take over her voice, and as she gave into the laughter so did the man opposite her, a deep reverberating chuckle falling from his lips.

"Don't suppose I could have that heart now?"

"Not a chance Sherlock Holmes." She said light-heartedly hitting his shoulder. And for that she was pulled into another earthshattering kiss.


	2. John's Poor Apron

"Sherlock, I was _just talking_ to Greg about Susan Bradshaw's report. You needn't start baking your way into my affections again. Even though you do look rather fetching in nothing but that apron." Molly sent a sly wink across the cool steel worktop, to the brooding man carrying the lemon-squares it took him hours to perfect.

"That was not what I was…" in the midst of defending his decision to bake (and with increasing regularity), he had almost lost the words Molly had spoken, although quietly, in the presence of John Watson and a disgruntled DI. "No you don't. That is not morgue conversation."

He lowered his voice, placing the sweet smelling confectionary next to his favourite microscope and leaning in to brush his lips against the ears of his favourite pathologist. "You wouldn't want John to hear what we did to his apron, he'd insist on burning it, and then what would I wear in the kitchen?" He daringly nibbled on her earlobe as he moved away to join the exiting Doctor and Detective. Molly managed to control her skin's natural reaction to flush, it had taken two months with the strange man's unexpected displays of affection, but some days Molly was almost immune to his charm, even his baking.

"I would like a separate copy of the Bradshaw report, but you can give that to me when you come round later, John will be out with Mary, and if the case goes as easily as expected… I'll be baking." It was Sherlock's turn to send a wink Molly's way, heating the room around her and causing the controlled hue of her skin to rebel and redden.

As Sherlock left, his mind whirred into action, solving the case of one Susan Bradshaw in under a minute; _murdered by her brother's wife's uncle no less, using her black 6 inch stiletto through the heart as Mrs Bradshaw attempted to dissuade his forceful advances with the offending item. It was a mistake, but one meant with malice and covered up poorly_.

This left his post-case high's attention to turn towards the Devil's food cake recipe that had piqued his interest online, and the devilishly sweet things he would do to Molly in nothing but John's (now regularly washed) apron.

* * *

Molly's day had passed without event, her thoughts occasionally blurred to moments within the two months past that she would be hopefully be recreating in her near future. That didn't halt her working efficiency as she indulged more in the thoughts over her lonely lunch of a rather ghastly homemade cheese and jam sandwich; I_ could have sworn the jar she had half emptied on top of the cheese this bleary-eyed morning was mum's special pickle, it appeared not_. She did loose herself as she recalled the last use she had had for jam, which resulted in yet another load of washing containing John's poorly treated apron. _Sherlock should really buy his own, if this is going to continue. _

* * *

"I smell cake, do you know how weird it is to walk into a guy's house and always smell cake? Especially when that guy is…" Molly never seemed to have the ability to fully complete sentences when she wandered into her second home at 221b and found Sherlock baking. She wasn't quite sure why a sight she had seen at least 11 times to date, left her mouth dry, her words halted, and her palms itching, but if it were to be any sight for sore eyes, it would be this one. "… naked." Now that was certainly **not **how that sentence was intended to end.

"Molly it is not only distasteful when you state the obvious, but when you falsely state it, that is unacceptable. I am, as you can see, wearing an apron." Sherlock didn't even turn to Molly to deliver this speech, his voice held all the expression he needed, keeping his fully exposed back to her as her eyes racked over him from head to toe, _cheeky teasing git._ Molly didn't have the breath to tell him that, and therefore when walking past to move into Sherlock's chair (a.k.a, the chair with the best view) she slowly, teasingly, brushed her delicate fingers over his broad shoulder blades, down the toned flesh of his arm and into the prepared bowel of patiently waiting and deliciously creamy frosting; if he was going to be a tease, not only was she going to give as good as she got, but she had every right to taste the icing.

Having satisfied her sweet craving, all the time not breaking eye contact with the fierce blue of a certain 'world's only', resistance (not that she tried all that much to resist the urge) failed her as she slapped his bare arse and strolled to take her spot, waiting for whatever delight was being baked by her 'domestic goddess' of a boyfriend.

Normally the open mouth kisses laid upon his bare neck and whispered promises of more to come filled his system mere seconds after Molly entered the flat, but the actual hunger that had caused her stomach to make obscene sounds over the final hour of her shift, caused by a discarded and hardly touched lunch abomination, set Molly's priorities into a new order; while 'the show' was certainly unmissable, waiting much longer for cake due to 'distracting' the chef, was a fate worse than death.

* * *

The cake was sublime. The only words Molly could conjure to describe such a sugary masterpiece either did not do it justice, or were swallowed by the deep kiss of the one and only 'Baking Detective of Baker Street'. _Who am I to complain?_


End file.
